


Looking For Another You

by sebs



Category: Because You'll Never Meet Me - Leah Thomas
Genre: M/M, welp this is gonna be a long one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebs/pseuds/sebs
Summary: Moritz Farber is just a normal high school exchange student. Sure, he's blind but that doesn't make him much different from anyone else. He has friends, the thespians and the fellow German punks. He has love interests, whether they're one night stands or long standing crushes on his best friend. Moritz expects his life to be rather ordinary, until he starts experiencing dreams. Weird, horrific dreams of laboratories and tanks and his mother's voice. The strangest thing is, in these dreams he can see, and even though they're not like he remembers seeing as a kid, the visions are a lot more than he can see right now. At the end of every dream, Moritz hears and sees the same voice of a boy he swears he knows nothing about. That is, until Moritz hears the boys voice in a brief discussion, and his whole world starts crumbling as he makes a desperate attempt to figure out what's happening.





	1. Punks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Blunderkids! This is a story I've been working on for a while, and I don't know where I'm going to go with it, but I'm pretty proud of how it's turned out so far. I tried to stay loyal to the characters, but I'm also placing Moritz and his friends in an American school, and without the trauma of the laboratory, so somethings might have changed or seem a little ooc. I also make a lot of secretly deep references to the books, so try and spot those. I tried my best on this, but if anyone wants to give me advice, I would love love that. I plan to make it fairly long, so I have a lot of room for improvement. Thanks, guys! -Sebastian

_“I have reason to believe the Blunderkinder are dying._

_This is why I will never stop telling you I love you.”_

_Those are the words that ring in his two ears like the sounds of beaten cymbals, read in his own nauseating voice, in gloom and despair. Then follows, flashes of people, faces almost impossible for him to see, as he doesn’t seem to recognize anyone. The outline of a stage is presented, he can feel the smacking of his chapped lips, and the stuttery sound of correctly worded rap. The click of a tongue. Everything turns to static, and the voice of a boy he’s never heard speaks just as clearly as the static. “Right here.” Right here. Right here. Once more, the flash of a face. A tall, slender Asian kid, with a beanie pulling back the little hair he has, and a full smile pouring down his face. Right in front of him._  

Moritz wakes up, breathing like he’s been drowned. He sits up, hugging his legs under the covers. It takes a moment for him to process where he is, as the silence around him reminds him of nothing he associates with home. Normally, he would wake up to the beep of an alarm, wind blowing through the trees as though a marathon was taking place. As a kid, he would wake up to a large hand comforting him in the time of nightmares, the smell of oil grease and the tapping of a janitor’s boot.

Now, he wakes up to silence. Then, groaning from his right, the slapping sound of a hand being placed firmly on Moritz’s shoulder. Max Fassner had woken up. And his voice eats it’s way through Moritz’s skull with every syllable he seems to posses.

“Are you okay?” Max asks.

Perhaps Moritz is fine, if not shaken, until Max spoke, and concern ran through every part of his speech. Moritz shakes his head, numbing himself to the warmness of Max’s hand.

“Maybe you should leave,” Max suggests, as Moritz throws the blanket off of himself, revealing a bare light brown chest and a pair of blue checkered boxers.

“You are truly kind,” Moritz jokes, hopping off the bed. He’s not even sure Max’s parents know he’s here. Most likely not. Perhaps he thinks Moritz is just a friend. Moritz glances over to Max. Most likely not.

“No, I mean, like is there some medication you should be taking?”

“Not helping, Fassner.”

“Ugh, you know what I mean. You sure you okay?”

“Positive. What time is it?” Moritz asks Max.

He remembers Max put Moritz’s jeans right by the left corner of the bed, so he finds them, pulling them on. He hears a deep yawn coming from Max.

Max takes his phone from the nightstand, flashing it on. “10:45. You can leave. My parents aren’t home yet.”

Right, distant parents, Moritz thinks, struggling to find his shirt. He drops to the ground and feels around on the floor, before hopelessly giving up.

“You can borrow one of mine,” says Max.

“You’ll have to get up,” Moritz tells him. “I don’t know your closet.”

Max sighs, dragging his feet and exhaustion across the room from Moritz, to a closet Moritz feels is big judging by the amount of time Max spends in there. It’s no secret that Max is crazy rich, perhaps that’s why he likes Moritz so much. Moritz can never see the lavish red of Max’s velvet couches, and doesn’t even want to think about Max’s Olympic sized pool.

“Hey, at least you got to fuck the blind kid,” Moritz says, as Max makes his way out of the closet.

Moritz feels a soft piece of clothing being placed into his hands, Max tells him it’s gray. Moritz turns around, slipping it on, feeling the wool cling to his body like it belongs there. He breathes heavily, combing his dark hair forward, letting it fall into his eyes just as easily as Max pulled it back.

“Goodnight,” he wishes Max, who is trodding back to bed. Max hums a little “goodnight” back to him. Moritz grabs his walking stick and opens the door, pausing to say one more thing before he leaves.

“Max, I know you’re not exactly quiet about this sort of thing, but don’t tell-”

“I know, I know. Don’t tell your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Moritz whispers, cleaning sleep from his eye.

There is no response as Moritz quickly exits the house, leaving only an open condom wrapper and a smell of black coffee for Max’s memory.

xx

With his lack of eyesight, and his rather anti social posture, Moritz can go days unnoticed, so in the halls of Winder High School, he makes himself as unseen as possible. Especially when Max Fassner passes him and Moritz can pick him up by scent alone. Max Fassner and his house all smell like carpet cleaner.

It’s when he meets Owen and Fieke in the cafeteria, when he really get’s scared. Moritz had done a good job at keeping his longest friends. While German transfer students weren’t exactly the hit of the party, Moritz keeps a bond with like minded Fieke and Owen and his bond with the artsy, fairly gay kids. He had kept his two worlds separate from each other, but Fieke had a tendency to get mad at the way Molly snapped at her, and Owen had a tendency to get pissed whenever Moritz even smiled at Max, the boy who broke Owen’s heart at the beginning of the year. Moritz has no idea the storm he’s in for when he waves at Owen with a lopsided smile, walking towards him.

Moritz sits down at the table pressed into the corner of the cafeteria, the place for most outcasts. Fieke is directly across from him, most likely pouring sugar out of packets like always. Owen is clicking his tongue, a nervous tick for him to do. Moritz seems to be the only one who finds it relaxing.

“So, Moritz,” Fieke sighs. “What’d you do with Max?”

Moritz scoffs, almost considering walking out on them to join Molly and Klaus at the Theatre Table. “How do you even know I did anything?”  
Being born with fucked up vocal chords, Owen cannot speak, and is therefore mute. He usually communicates with sign language, however, upon meeting Moritz, he installed an app on his phone that allows him to speak through a robotic voice. Most find it irritating or creepy. Fieke finds it funny. Moritz finds it endearing.

“You...fucked...Max, right?” comes out of Owens phone, at a volume possibly too loud for this given conversation. Owen doesn’t seem to care. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

Moritz blushes, unaware that perhaps he’d been going around wearing a signature piece of Max Fassner’s clothing. He wants to blame Max, but the only hate he can muster up is hate for himself.

“It didn’t mean anything!” Moritz swears, setting his hand out on the table, reaching for Owen.

Truly, it didn’t. Moritz doesn’t give a shit about the thinking patterns of Max Fassner, yet he’s spent days researching and testing out ways to make Owen Abend smile. There was only one elephant in the room. Whether Owen felt the same way.

“You told me you had no interest in him,” Owen’s machine types out after a second of silence. Fieke chooses to remain silent, for once.

“I don’t. Unfortunately, my distaste for him is a one way street.”

Owen begins to aggressively clack on the keyboard. Mortiz can hear the heavy breathing in his voice, the panic and rush Owen only experiences on occasion.

“Did he,” type, type, “hurt you?”

“No, no, no! It was my fault. He was pursuing me. The only way I thought I could end it was...to give him what he wants.”

Mostly silence.

“Oh, _Brille_ ,” Fieke sighs, flicking the lenses of Moritz’s black goggles. Moritz flinches, then sighing with both siblings as they both wonder how they ended up here.

Owen clicks his tongue, before asking what’s for lunch. The others answer with the usual, pizza with a side salad. Owen stands up, walking away from his friends.

“You should come home with us,” Fieke says, tearing open what seems to be a bag of chips, and shoving one into her mouth. “Owen’s been wanting to talk to you.”

“He’ll never look at me the same again,” Moritz says hopelessly.

The crunching of Fieke’s mouth. “Lookey here, _Brille_. You gotta stop being so emo and stupid. Owen’ll forgive you. He knows why you did it. Trust me.”

She shifts over to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and rocking him back and forth. His feet start to create rhythms on their own. They both let out an exasperated laugh, done with the world around them.

“Hey, Moritz, you can stay the night, by the way. I know your dad can be a little hard on you at times.”

“I have a curfew, Fieke.”

“So?”

Moritz bites his lip back, waiting for the footsteps of his friend Owen to return to his ears.

  
xx

Owen’s bedroom is a room made for a boy who couldn’t speak, for a boy who had to give two hundred percent for his voice to be heard. Hung across a wall are 3 guitars Moritz has a fascination in hearing Owen play, each of them electric, none of them lacking in quality or beauty, as each strum of the string sounded like a king being born, like laughs and hums mixed into one. In a corner of Owen’s room is a big desk with a computer constantly buzzing and beeping with messages from every internet friend Owen had kept over the years. Every single book you’ll find that belongs to him will be filled to the core with annotations and witty remarks, every notebook will be chock full of writing about anything he feels like. Owen’s not even a writer. He just likes words. In the corner is a twin size bed with itchy sheets but blankets softer than the stomach of a kitten.

Moritz knows this room, perhaps more than he knows Owen himself. Sometimes, when Fieke or Owen leave him alone, he’ll spend his time relaxing, listening to the creaks the bed makes when he sits on it versus when he lies down. He’ll bury his face into Owen’s pillows and be reminded about how the entire house smells like wax because of Fieke’s uncanny love of Yankee Candles.

“Sorry if you trip on something,” Owen’s phone says. “It’s kind of messy.”

Owen opens the door to his room, pulling Moritz in rather forcefully. It shocks Moritz. He smiles, feeling his heartbeat speed up faster and faster the longer Owen touches him.

“You’ll just have to lead me through,” Moritz smirks, stepping back and tripping on something that very second.

Owen has a rather quiet laugh that never manages to be more alive in its emptiness. He let’s it loose, like a cage of doves. They peck at Moritz’s cheek until his face produces a recklessly big smile.

Owen helps Moritz back on his feet, his shoulders still shaking with laughter as he holds him up. Moritz finds himself laughing with Owen, until it’s just two boys laughing at each other, with their hands fixated on holding each other’s arms.

“Christ, Owen, am I really that laughable?” Moritz says. “What did I even slip on?”

Owen doesn’t answer the question, either because he doesn’t want to or doesn’t want to go into the hassle of doing so. Instead he leads Moritz to his desk chair, spinning him around to face the computer, leading Moritz’s hand to the mouse. Moritz’s hand shakes as Owen clicks and moves the mouse around.

“Owen, what are you doing?”

Owen presses a single finger to Moritz’s lips, leaning in slowly as he presses one final time, and sound pours out, filling in Moritz’s ears.

An auto generated voice speaks..

 _Hello. This is Owen talking to you through electricity, like usual. It’s easier to type like this. Especially when I have kind of a lot to say. Moritz, I was really mad to hear about you and Max today. But it’s not because of left over feelings for him. It’s about my feelings for_ you _._

“Owen,” Moritz interrupts, his arms shaking, his face in a constant grin. Owen puts another finger to his mouth.

_I really don’t think it’s any surprise that I think of you as more than a friend. But I’ve been pretty mute on my behalf, and you’ve been blind to my obvious signs so-_

“Owen?” Moritz says, this time giggling like a child.

_Yeah?_

“You have the worst sense of humor.”  
There’s silence before the voice speaks once more.

_I never laughed until I met you._

The tension in the air is thick enough that the swipe of Fieke’s sharp nails wouldn’t scratch it. Moritz spins the chair around, his face only a few inches away from Owen as he pulls the boy onto his lap and looks him dead in the eye.

“And I would give up my hands for good enough ears to hear it,” Moritz whispers, throwing his arms around Owen as he closes the space between them.

Fieke had bought them both giant slices of pepperoni pizza, but they kiss like they haven’t eaten in weeks. They kiss the way little children hold their mother when they haven’t seen them in weeks, they kiss the way you gasp when a speeding car nearly takes someone you love out of the picture. They are two teenage boys with desire from each other, but looking at the way they grab at each others faces, they could be Greek gods in the fourth experience of a reunion. 

xx

Moritz stays there that night. Fieke leaves them alone most of the time, and Owen and Moritz both hear shouts and screams from Fieke and her parents, while the two find themselves entangled like earphone cords.

Ignoring Max, Owen is much more experienced than Moritz, despite being a year younger. He knows everything to make Moritz shiver, to turn the sweat dripping down his forehead into breathless tears.

Moritz wonders if he is able to be half as strong as Owen. To whisper a word and let Owen’s body break like ice. To control every affection Owen feels with a slight of a hand.

Despite everything, despite the body curled up next to Moritz as he falls asleep under the hums of a wordless boy, the dreams continue to haunt Moritz, following him in a long cloak and a short temper.

_This time he sees nothing. Instead he hears._

_The cries of an infant sound more like the shrieks of death than the cries of life. He cannot hear the cooing of a mother, only the panicked emotions of someone who seems more afraid than comforting. Then he notices it. The sudden rush of liquid pouring through his arms, the sound of sloshing entering his brain. The fear is located in those baby screams now, and it’s horrific to imagine, much less experience._

_He can hear the blood flow through his veins._

Moritz wants to wake up sobbing, but he instead wakes up silent, his chest rising higher than the skies before falling like Rome.

How could a boy like him create something like that? He’s not even creative, the best he can do is poorly written poems and sloppy letters to no one.

He thinks about what happened right before it all went black. The same way it ended in the last dream.

The flash of a beautiful boy’s face and the words, “right here,” repeating in his head.

xx

Moritz holds Owen’s hand all the way on their walk to school. Fieke glares at them but walks with a smile on her face most of the time. She promised Owen that if anyone made fun of either of them, Fieke and her Mohawk would shut that kid up. Meanwhile, Molly was demanding news after Max and Moritz slept together. Moritz said it was over and didn’t talk to Molly after that. Molly’s so focused on setting up Moritz with someone in the drama clique, and he doubts Owen fits the profile.

“We promised to stick together, right?” Fieke says, as they make their way towards the school entrance, the wide doors looking even bigger than they were before now.

Moritz glances at his hands intertwined with Owen. He had been bullied before he came out and after. He had been teased when Fieke painted his nails, he had been called fag every time he found a boy attractive. He had been shoved against walls for glancing at someone in the locker room, and had been ridiculed and laughed at whenever he tried to stand up for himself.

He nods.

“Good. Come on,” Owen drags Moritz the other way, Moritz continues to hold his boyfriend’s (?) hand like it’s a preschool field trip. “I need to talk to someone.

“Is it your dealer?” Moritz teases, resisting the urge to break into a smile when Fieke growls at him. Owen on the other hand, lightly taps on his ring finger in amusement. Or perhaps in anticipation of an early engagement.

“Ha, ha,” Fieke pauses and it’s just as cold as a stare, “I see him after school,” Fieke says in deadpan, stopping for a moment. Moritz hears her quickly tapping on her phone. “Liz!”

Footsteps run up to Fieke, until they stop relatively close to Owen and Moritz. And as Moritz realizes, it’s a pair of people, Liz and someone else.

“Hey, Fieke,” who Moritz assumes to be Liz greets, with genuine interest in her voice. Her words drift towards Moritz. “Hey, Owen.”

Owen tries to pull his attached hand up for a wave, but Moritz shoves it back down again, and Owen squeezes it in reassurance. Liz lets out a little giggle.

“That’s just my brother and his boyfriend, _Brille,_ over here. Who have you got with you?"

“This is Ollie,” Liz introduces, the spotlight now focusing on the unheard voice.

“Sup’, guys,” the voice mumbles. It’s enough to make Moritz freeze in place.

The way the tongue and lips and mouth move together like they’ve been rehearsing that very sentence since they were made. The fall of the voice at the end, so subtle yet obvious when you realize it. The breath between words, even if it’s just a few. Every single part of it.

Moritz has memorized voices like phone numbers. This is the boy from his dream.

“You!” he exclaims, ripping his goggles away from his face, as if it will allow him to see. “You’re the boy from my dreams!"

His face flushes as he realizes his impulsive decision, and the obvious consequences. Liz laughs awkwardly, the boy is so silent Moritz isn’t even sure he’s still around, or if he ever existed. And Owen. His breath becomes more rapid, and two squeezes transfer their way from one boy’s hand to the other, but it’s not quite clear where the action started.


	2. Thespians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moritz seeks help from his friends in the drama program, owns up to Owen, and has a confusing interaction with a half stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome back! This is a really short chapter, but I tried to make it count for a transition. Thanks to all of you who've read it, and I hope you're invested enough to continue reading!

“I have stuff you might want to hear,” Moritz sits in the desk beside Molly, a few minutes before the bell rings for English class.

As soon as he realized what he said, Moritz dashed out of the situation, even if he didn’t know quite where to go. Eventually, he ran into Klaus, who helped him, but didn’t really say much to him. Moritz didn’t say much to Klaus either.

Molly is the only one he could think of. The only one he could trust to tell how he ultimately screwed up the first relationship of his life, on the second day.

Molly has known Moritz since they were kids, though they had been far from friends until recently. Molly’s an eccentric girl, who always seems to be shaking and talking about gossip, or acting, or Klaus. From who she currently is, Moritz has no doubt in another universe Molly would have Beyonce level confidence. But it’s been 17 years since Molly was born, and she’s been extremely insecure through every day. Molly was born with cleft lip, and has had difficulty speaking or feeling good about herself. While everyone else knows Molly is a beauty queen who has every chance of making it as an actress, Molly doesn’t. 

After all, she’s had to take years of speech therapy to be able to qualify for drama class, but she’s worked so hard there is no way she’ll fail in the future.

“Is it a Max thing?” she suggests, shifting herself towards Moritz.

“No, Molly,” Moritz nearly rolls his eyes, “it’s Owen.”

Molly guffaws, clapping her hands together all cheery. Hopefully she doesn’t turn too many heads. A perk of being blind is that you don’t know who’s looking at you. Moritz gives Molly an evil look, the raise of an eyebrow, the pout of a lip. 

“What? I’m allowed to be happy! You’re my favorite gays!”

Most likely not true. Associated with theatre nerds and the few members of the Gender Sexuality Alliance, Molly knows a lot of gays.

“I thought your favorite gay was Klaus,” Moritz teases, receiving a playful push from Molly in return.

“In your dreams,” Molly says, rolling her eyes. “So, what happened with you and Owen? Did you finally confess?”

“Close. He did.”

“And? Did you kiss?”

Moritz shrugs carelessly, a strand of hair falls into his face and a reckless smirk grows upon his face.

“Did you--did you,” Molly leans in close, “did you guys have sex?”

“What? No!” Moritz scoffs. Class begins. The two friends separate.

The shuffling of students arriving in their seats fills Moritz’s ears, along with the slam of the door  several times. Mr. Bailey clears his throat for another mundane lesson, but before words begin to leak out  of his mouth like a dripping sink, Moritz whispers to Molly, 

“Maybe.”

“Fuck, Moritz! Two guys in two days! Owen’s pretty lucky to have you as his first,” Molly comments. If Mortiz had a drink he would have spit it out.

“I’m sorry, but Owen is definitely experienced,” Moritz says with wide eyes. Mr. Bailey clears his throat again, this time directing his attention towards Moritz Farber. Moritz can feel his cheeks sting, and quiets his voice instantly. A laugh rises upon Molly before she shuts down as well.

Moritz didn’t even get to tell Molly about the boy, and the embarrassing shit he needs to make up for. The only thing Owen likes more than Moritz is vintage music. Maybe he could take him to the record shop after school? 

As for the boy, Moritz will explain it to Fieke and Owen, and hopefully they’ll listen. And he  probably won’t look anything like the kid in his dreams. He’ll just be a nobody with a familiar voice.

Halfway through the lesson, Moritz closes his eyes, his eyelashes pulling the lids down as Mr. Bailey get’s more and more distant.

Then it happens again, when Moritz thought he was safe.

Water tanks. Children screaming. Heads twisting.

Everything goes black.

The face of his mother.

The sound of a demon.

Moritz jolts back into reality, and falls out of his chair.

“Mr. Farber!” Mr. Bailey scolds. “What are you doing!”

Meanwhile, Molly rushes to Moritz’s side. His head is on the ground, and Moritz groans nonsensical words. Molly helps him on his feet, lifting up the chair that collapsed with him. 

“You okay?” she asks, needlessly helping him get to his seat.

“Just go back to your seat,” Moritz mutters, adjusting his focus to the classroom again.

His mind had flashed to the day at the beach. That’s what always happens when he thinks of his mother. 

And he was too rude to Molly. Moritz knows that it would be acceptable to ignore Molly all together, due to their history, but he’s supposed to be her friend. And it’s not her fault she’s so overprotective of him. He knows it has nothing to do with his blindness, or his pacemaker. It just comes from the insides of Molly’s soul and memories, and he can’t blame her for that. If anything he blames his mother, if anything he blames himself.

Moritz adds Molly to the list of people he should own up to.

 

xx

“Okay, explain it again,” Molly orders, leaning over the lunch tables, her elbows supporting her.

Moritz peels open a slightly too ripe tangerine, and shoves the whole thing into his mouth. He let’s the sour citrus taste seep into his mouth until Molly get’s annoyed and he swallows it.

“Okay, so I’ve been having dreams,” Moritz says.

He wonders if the people passing by happen to be Fieke and Owen. He couldn’t find them at their lunch table and figured the nerds were probably working at the library again, but he didn’t join them this time. Molly offered to sit with him anyway, so here he is, at the theatre kid table, like he used to.

“Dreams?” James from stage lighting questions, sitting down at the table. “Like, sleep dreams, or aspirations?”

“Sleep,” Moritz says quickly, ignoring him. The less visible he appears the less likely Max is to spot him, wherever he is. “So, they’ve been really weird. Like, I could  _ see  _ things weird.”

“Is that even possible?” James from stage lighting asks tentatively. Molly hisses at him from across the table, poking Moritz’s cheek.

“He hasn’t been blind forever, Jamie. He could see as a kid. It’s just weird cause he hasn’t been able to for 10 years. Why are you even listening? Moritz, continue.”

“Okay so it’s basically just been these really weird images and voices, and then it always ends the same. The same boy saying the same words.  _ Right here _ . And then it cuts out. So I was with Fieke and Owen this morning,” he takes notice of Molly’s purr at the end, “and we talked to this boy. And I’m sure it was him. He had the same voice and everything."

“Do you know what he looks like? His name?”

“The boy in dream looked like East Asian, maybe South East Asian. He was tall--”

“Everyone is compared to you,” James from stage lighting says. Moritz’s eyes narrow, and Molly laughs, guilt washing over her voice.

“Continue,” she says, per usual.

“He didn’t have very much hair, and he was wearing a beanie. And he looked...not sad, but, sick. Like, not really in specifics. Just in general. And the boy we met’s name was Ollie. Don’t really know much else.”

“There’s a kid that looks like that, a sophomore. I don’t know his name but he hangs around this girl named Liz a shit ton.”

“Yeah! Liz! That’s the girl he was talking to!”

“Wow, Moritz, looks like you found your dream boy. May I ask, knowing you, what exactly did you do after you realized this information?”

Moritz blushes an unholy color and sinks into the sleeves of his fuzzy sweater.

xx

 

[Today: 3:30]

_ Owen. Meet me by the meadow behind the highest point of the school. _

[Owen]

you mean, our spot???

_ I refuse to call it that. There are much better spots. _

you posh ass sounding all fancy when you text lol

_ I just know how to use proper grammar and spelling, Owen _

so what do you want to tell me?

_ An apology for what happened earlier? A trip to the music store? Or anywhere you want? _

it sounds fun hanging out with you but

i don’t really need all that

or an apology

i just thought it was weird so i’d like an explanation

and i kinda wanted to like

take you out

on a date?

_ that, uh, sounds….perfect _

could i take you to the sickly poet? 

around seven?   
i know your dad gives you a curfew at nine but you don’t have to tell him you left ; p

_ p? _

i typed an emoji face thing

forgot you hear not read

_ no worries. _

_ hey, owen? _

yeah

_ What did the boy, uh, Ollie? What did he look like? _

[Read 3:45]

 

Moritz sighs, shoves his phone in his pocket. There are moments of silence between him and Owen, but he guesses he’ll just have to confront Owen about it at seven.

The stairwell in the corner of the school always sounds, always seems, like someone is running down the stairs to get to class even though no one ever uses it, even though Moritz only ever goes there after school. Fieke likes to joke about it being haunted. Moritz doesn’t know if he believes it. 

Moritz sits on the third step up, confused on what to do now. Perhaps go home.

“Do you not know what I look like?” a recognizable voice says over him. Moritz steps back, in shock and a little bit of anger. 

“You read my texts?” he accuses, crossing his arms in defense. His sweater paws hang over his hands, and he tries to look more threatening without moving them. The boy, Ollie, stays silent, and he figures that’s his move of attack.

“Some of them,” Ollie says, guilt lodged deep in his voice. “I’m sorry...I just came around to say hi and, uh, yeah.”

“Oh.”

They both sit there in silence, Moritz not wanting to speak but not wanting to be spoken to either. If he says hi does that crumple the entire establishment of their previous “I yelled at you nonsense words then ran away” complex? Does it cure the whole thing, will the wounds of his mistakes heal or fill with salt and lemon juice?

“About what I said…I, uh…”

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to. I’d like to but I don’t really need you to.”

“I, ah, I’ll, ah, tell you later. Perhaps when I’ve accepted the explanation myself.”

“That sounds promising,” Ollie says, breathing deeply. Moritz feels the air from his lungs pouring down to Moritz. Christ, this kid is tall. “So, what do you mean you want to know what I look like? We’ve talked before, right?”

“I’m blind,” Moritz explains, surprised this kid hasn’t noticed it before. Moritz peels off his goggles to reveal his still eyes, and Ollie makes a sound that doesn’t reveal too much.

“Kay.”

The silence waits for them. Less like a hawk waiting for it’s prey, and more like a blue bird waiting to take flight.


	3. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen is filled with anxiety before his first date with Moritz. Ollie steps into a cafe after hearing someone rock the mic and reevaluates his social life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm sorry its been a bit of a time since I posted. This chapter is more about developing the characters, as that's a big focus of what I want to do to further the plot. There's subtle drama too, not gonna lie. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'll see you on the other side.

Owen picks up Moritz the way any good boyfriend should, by attempting to throw rocks at Moritz’s bedroom window, on the third story of the Winder Apartment Complex.

Keyword: attempting.

In this process, a middle aged woman get’s very frustrated, and begins to yell at Owen who doesn’t respond past sign language the woman can’t understand. And, as the butterfly effect proves itself once again, Herr Farber pokes his head out of the bedroom window to try to understand what’s happening.

“Owen?” he calls down to the small boy in the leather jacket and the nice pair of slacks.

Owen nods, signing to him slowly, as Herr Farber knows the language in a calm way, and little of it. Herr Farber ceases to understand, seeing as he is without his glasses, looking down three stories. He can barely recognize Owen as Owen. He can barely recognize Owen as a person.

“Uh, Moritz isn’t here! I don’t know where he is but I’ll try to contact him. Come on up, come on up!”

Before the middle aged woman comes back, Owen sprints up to the third story, knocking on Herr Farber’s door with ambition. The 60 year old man answers, seeming at ease all of a sudden, his face seems softer than usual, as the regular stress of adulthood get’s to him quite often. Owen had never seen Herr in sweatpants, or in a loose t shirt, then again he had never seen him without Moritz, either.

“Owen, Owen, come on in. I assume you’re here for Moritz?”

Owen nods, taking one fateful step into the Farber home. As usual, it is quite tidy and small, the only mess being the overflowing chaos of the kitchen sink. The only missing thing is, of course, Moritz, and the smell of old things. Old, but not vintage.

 _Will he be back soon?_ Owen signs, closing the door behind him.

Herr sighs, making his way to the kitchen where he begins to scrub away the mess in the kitchen sink, what he always does whenever Owen or Fieke is over.

“I think your best bet is texting him, Owen.” Owen shoots him a look, and Herr sighs. “But I’ll call him if you want.”

He picks up his phone, dialing Moritz’s number, as he likes to remember it, and the phone rings twice before Moritz answers.

“Hello, Moritz. Owen is waiting for you. What? It’s seven. You better come here or you won’t have time to go out? We’ll talk about extending your curfew if you come down here now. Where are you, even?” Herr let’s out a chuckle and side eyes Owen, sitting on the couch, with a pillow pressed up to his chest. “You have friends besides Owen and Fieke? Ah, yes, I do know about Molly. So is Owen taking you out on a date or something? Ah, okay, you’ll be there in ten? Okay, bye.”

“That was odd. Moritz doesn’t usually voluntarily hang out with people besides you,” Herr says, throwing a wink at Owen which Owen strongly rejects. “At least he’ll be here soon.”  
Owen nods, worrying through it all. Maybe he was with Max again? Owen doubted Moritz would do that to him more than once. Then again, it’s not like Moritz knows the full story between Owen and Max. Or even half of it. Owen grips the pillow tighter, unaware of how dumb he must look.

Ten minutes pass, and Moritz still isn’t home. Owen starts to sweat, his breath becomes heavy and he feels panic coming on. He expects the worst. _Moritz lied and he doesn’t like you and he’s not coming back tonight cause he doesn’t want to talk to you._ You can make it worse. _Moritz is never going to come back. He ran away._ Worse. _Moritz cares about you, so he rushed to make it here, and got hit by a bus on the way over. He’s dead. Your death is his fault. Your death is his fault._

Owen sprints to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it the second he can. First he climbs out of his leather jacket, then rips off his Public Enemy t shirt (Moritz’s favorite) then peels off his grey chest binder in one final heaving breath. He grips the corners of the bathroom sink, gasping for breath as he tries to reassure himself it’s going to be okay. He does a few stretches he remembers. Bend back shoulder bones. Cough. Breathe. Raise arms above head. Cough. Breathe. Stand strai-

“Owen?” Moritz’s voice calls from outside.

“I think he went to the bathroom…” Herr’s voice drifts from outside.

Owen panics even more, pulling his binder over his head and letting it scrape his skin as he becomes the Public Enemy again with a leather jacket. He opens the door and Moritz stands there, looking blankly ahead, with his goggles pushing up his hair. Definitely hot. Owen realizes there’s no point in wearing the Public Enemy shirt, or even looking good, and he sighs in defeat. It’s symbolical, he figures.

“You okay?” Moritz asks, flashing Owen a grin. Owen pauses, taking his hand.

He squeezes once for yes. He taps on Moritz’s shoulder for a question.

Owen doesn’t want to try to talk tonight. He just wants Moritz for himself. He wants Moritz to understand even if the most Owen gives is a brush of the arm.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I was with Molly and Klaus.”

Owen carves a three and a question mark into Moritz’s upper arm, exposed as Moritz is wearing only a tee shirt.

“Third wheel? Yeah.” Pause. “At least I know how Fieke feels.”

Owen smiles, leaning onto Moritz’s shoulder. Moritz pulls away all of a sudden, adjusting his goggles back onto his eyes. A smile drops from Owen’s face, and Moritz leads him forwards.

“We’re gonna go now, Father,” he says, opening the door for Owen. Owen looks at Herr Farber and waves a goodbye before stepping outside.

“Be home by ten,” Herr says, changing his mind about the curfew.

xx

There’s something about Moritz’s eyes that are different from everyone else's. Not just seeing eyed people either. There’s something about it that feels so full, like two giant balls of magic launched right into Owen’s thoughts. In the glimpses, Owen get’s of Moritz’s dark eyes, it’s always like the world’s about to crash, or change for the better. Owen feels it change. Spine tremble and everything.

It’s nights like these, as they both step inside the entrance of the Sickly Poet, that Owen wishes more than anything to feel the magic of Moritz’s pupils again.

“I don’t understand what you love so much about this place,” Moritz comments with a sneer, as the sound of the Sickly Poet begins to shift into noise.

Owen’s been coming here since he moved away from his family with Fieke. What he loves most are the characters drifting around, the poets, the angsty kids, the middle aged fathers sipping coffee, and the twenty somethings serving overpriced lattes at three in the morning to the old women who live down the street.

The sensory experience is quite different. Hushed voices followed by the tapping of microphones and the clamor of miscellaneous breaths that somehow form into poetry. Slurps of liquid that feels heavy and the chewing of food that feels unimportant. Perhaps to Owen the walls of the Sickly Poet felt like a welcoming, whereas, to Moritz, it felt like an intrusion.

The couple chooses a seat near the window, Moritz says he likes the contrast between light and dark. Owen orders them two peppermint lattes with extra whipped cream on Owens, and they sit there, listening closely to the current reader on the mic.

Owen pulls Moritz towards him with one finger interlocking with Moritz. Moritz lurches forwards, a smirk forming as he stumbles sounds with Owen’s breath so close to him. With their hands now interlocked, Owen writes a new word onto Moritz’s upper arm with the tip of his finger from his free hand.

 _SPEAK_.

“What do you mean?” Moritz smiles. “I am speaking. I’m doing whatever the hell I want to.”

Owen clicks his tongue in frustration. He morphs Moritz’s hand into a pointing finger, facing towards the stage. Moritz chuckles when he realizes Owen’s intent, and shakes his head as Owen keeps his eyes wide in hope.

“I’m not a poet, Owen.”

Owen shakes his head, not for Moritz but for himself, and writes no on Moritz’s wrist. Then, _you have words_. Then, he stares at a boy without eyes as long as his eyes are hidden.

“Are you talking about my rapping?” Moritz laughs into his hand before pausing and furrowing his eyebrows so his goggles move around a little bit. “That’s not _poetry_ , Owen.”

Owen takes his hand and squeezes it twice. Then he pulls Moritz off the chair and drags him to the stage, all with Moritz completely silent. When they are only a few feet away from the now empty stage, Moritz grabs Owen’s shoulders, pulling his goggles off of his face for once.

“This is ridiculous, Owen. I can’t do this.”

Owen grabs Moritz’s face, in a rather aggressive way. Then, removing one hand from his boyfriend’s cheek, Owen begins to carve again.  
_I am here._

Moritz steps away from Owen for a moment. “What do I even say?” he asks.

 _You know you have something_ , Owen wants to sign but inevitably doesn’t.

Moritz steps onto the stage of the Sickly Poet. Owen hears a few claps, but mostly just looks of curiosity and long sips of tea. Moritz clears his throat right into the microphone. A few people cringe. Lastly, Moritz secures his goggles right over his eyes and begins to speak, his rust voice hitting the microphone like a spiked bat hitting a pinata.

xx

Liz bailed. And it’s enough of a daily occurrence that Ollie doesn’t seemed too phased, despite resurgences of the bad kind of electricity clawing through his chest.

It makes sense. Liz is popular, Liz has friends, Liz doesn’t want to be seen with the weirdo, especially not out and about downtown where anything could happen.

It hurts, Ollie, but Liz taught him to understand. And he really tries to. He get’s off early, a bus stop before the one he would have met Liz at. He adjust his beanie to shield his face from the light of the town. It get’s caught up in his eyes, and then he doesn’t have it out of his head for another two days.

Just like Liz’s smile, and everything else about the fluffing girl. Was understanding not good enough for Ollie?  
A person passes the lanky boy shivering on the edge of the sidewalk in silence, and their eyes don’t leave him. He shrugs it off and decides to go somewhere.

Some kids from school are hanging around to his left, so Ollie promptly follows to his right. All he can hear is the windy cold, and the chattering of people. There was never a day in Ollie’s life where he wished he didn’t have ears, until this one.

Then, in the spur of a second, Ollie catches something else. Slam poetry type stuff? Except also...what the fluff? Ollie spins around to face the Sickly Poet, a place he’s only seen the pretentious art kids and the moms go to.

But this time it was neither a pretentious art kid (well maybe) or mom on the mic. It was Moritz, the kid he met earlier. And he’s not just talking poetry.   
Man, that kid has rhythm.

Ollie steps inside the weird cafe place so he can actually hear what the kid is saying. He sees another boy from school, uh, someone who knows Fieke, who knows Liz. Ollie sits in the back, not wanting anyone to see him, only Moritz, well, he wants Moritz to know he’s there.

When Moritz finishes, he wobbles off the stage with his head still held high despite the state of the rest of his body. There are a few claps, including one from the boy Ollie’s seen before. Ollie however? Ollie whoops. Yelps, shouts, whatever. A couple people look at him, he sees a teenage girl laugh into her hand. Moritz, now with the other boy, looks around frantically to find the source of the noise.

“Moritz!” Ollie yells, with a soon to be smile building itself up from the ground.

Moritz’s other boy looks at him with furrowed eyebrows, his hand latched onto Moritz’s chest like some form of possessive action. Moritz, however, seems to be quite pleased with the sudden arrival of his new friend.

He really suits a crooked smile.

“Oliver?” he asks, towards nothing in particular.

“It’s Ollie!” he yells back, taking a step towards him. “Hey, guys.”

The other boy waves in his direction, a bit awkwardly.

“Hey, uh, this is Owen,” Moritz gestures to the boy next to him. Owen let’s out a little huff through his nostrils. Ollie pretends not to notice.

“Hey, Owen, I’m Ollie. I don’t really know Moritz well, just thought I’d check in,” he shrugs, scanning Owen’s eyes to see how he feels. “You did really well. I think I’ll just be going now.”

Most people at the cafe seemed to be staring at him anyway. Ollie left abruptly, letting the cold air follow him. He sat on a bus stop nearby, with no means of going anywhere, chilly in the windy night.

 _Are you really that desperate for a friend?_ Ollie thought. He hadn’t been the same after Arthur. And Liz was the only other person who hung out with him. It was just, Ollie in his lonesome, Ollie and his doctor who was pretending to be his dad, who had to pay all the finances for him and also be by his side. All of it was stupid. Ollie would never get past being the weird skater kid with the beanie and he would never get passed the seizures he had in class when he was younger.

He dials his go to number, the phone ringing two times before Dr. Auburn Stache picked up.

“Ollie?” the doctor said.

“Hey, Auburn Stache. Could you pick me up? I’ll text you my location.”

Ollie thought he heard some rustling on the other end of the line, but after a few moments he heard the doctor’s voice again, clear as ever.

“Yes, I can certainly do that for you,” Auburn Stache said.

Ollie hung up the phone, putting his hands in between his legs and his head in between his arms. Certainly. That’s a word he needed to hear again.


	4. Outcasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ollie ditches class to solve a mystery. Fieke and Owen spend lunch with a strange peer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo. Sorry it's been such a struggle updating, but I'm gonna disappear for like 6 days for camp, so who knows when my next update will be. Anyway, outside from the sad, I hope you guys continue to like this story and I'll see you soon, blunderkids.

It’s only been two months since Ollie moved in with ‘Stache, but he’d already gotten used to waking up at six am and walking to go get breakfast before anyone had woken up yet. 

Ollie’s morning routine: wake up in your school clothes already, grab your beanie, brush your teeth, sneak past ‘Stache’s room with a note left on the door that you’re was gone, grab your skateboard and ride down to Big Heart Bakery to pick up a croissant and some coffee they give you for free because you’re a regular customer. Then ride down to school early, meet up with Liz if you have the chance, and go about your everyday school routine.

School isn’t something Ollie liked, it’s just something that keeps him distracted. School’s the background music of his life, but he keeps it at the top of his playlist.

Although most people choose to see him as the weird outcast instead of the dude just trying to get by. Ollie can’t blame him. His only friend is Liz, and she won’t even hang out with him during school hours. Hell, the administration didn’t even ban his skate board like they did Martin G’s because Ollie couldn’t be more of an insignificant part of the world.

Which sucked, but you know, didn’t matter all that much. He liked being a hermit.

Liz ditched him on his way to school, which wasn’t unusual but wasn’t satisfactory. There were twelve minutes until the first bell rang, which resulted in Ollie skating laps around the school, looking for someone interesting, even though they never appeared. In this boring ass suburb, there was nothing interesting that happened. Ever.

Although this time Ollie stumbles upon something maybe a little bit worth his time. Blind boy, in the flesh, walking down the block with his steampunk goggles and his walking stick. What a character.

Ollie stops his skateboard, gawking at the boy with a smile on his face. 

He knows that this wasn’t how you make friends but–

“Hey, Moritz!”

Moritz whips around, his cane nearly flying into the air. A quick smirk appears on his lips, before he tucks it back into the pocket of his face, keeping a stern expression. Ollie skates over to him on the other side of the street.

“Ollie. Yo.”

Ollie holds back a laugh, trying to see Moritz’s eyes through the opaque goggles. No luck.

“Yo. How’s life been since that sweet reading at The Sickly Poet?” he prompts, punching  Moritz’s shoulder lightly.

“That was nothing. I doubt anyone wanted to hear rapping at a poetry reading, anyway,” Moritz chuckles, not looking at Ollie. 

Ollie doesn’t find this unusual. The boy is blind after all. And he’s also blushing like crazy, his cheeks exposed since his long hair is pulled back into a bun. Moritz wears the oddest clothing, a mustard yellow shirt and orange corduroy pants, but with the way he walks in them, he’s able to pull them off. 

And suddenly Ollie finds himself staring. Is it still weird if Moritz can’t see him? Ollie figures it is. Especially when silence is suddenly surrounding them, and neither of them knows how to end it.

“So I know we just met–” Ollie begins, blinking at Moritz absently. Moritz puts his hand up, interrupting him.

“We’ve met several times. We’ve just barely talked.”

What a sense of humor, Ollie thinks to himself, but finds it endearing. 

“Okay, my point is, we don’t know each other, but I thought that maybe we could get something to eat, and talk about that thing you were going to explain to me. The whole dream thing?”

“Right. Well, I guess we could meet after school,” Moritz says, walking away.

Ollie freezes, stunned that Moritz agreed to hang out with him. Maybe this is how you make friends. Then he processes how long school is, and how long he can wait to make a new friend and put together the puzzle pieces of this mystery he’s part of. Ollie get’s back on his skateboard, chasing after Mortiz.

“Wait!” Ollie calls, stopping in front of Moritz. “Do you want to go now?”

Moritz looks somewhat aggravated, raising his eyebrows. “School starts in six minutes, Ollie.” Pause. “Are you suggesting we skip school?”

“Is that...not okay?”

“I just, didn’t take you for a rebel. You seem very...energetic,” Moritz says, the smirk he carries so well appearing on his face again.

“I’m not rebellious,” Ollie sighs, stepping on his skateboard so it’s high enough for him to pick it up without having to reach for it. “I’m just curious. Come on. I know a place where we won’t  get caught.”

Ollie almost thinks Moritz won’t oblige, but life is full of surprises, and Moritz quickly folds his white cane and holds his hand out, one of his eyebrows sticking up.

“Take me there.”

 

xx

 

Ollie leads Moritz to what feels like a small restaurant, with not a lot of air coming through the windows and tables cramped together. The space of the area isn’t ideal for Moritz, but he can handle it. The smell of what seems to be sweet food fills the air, and as they sit down at a table for two, a voice talks above them.

“‘Sup losers,” someone says, clearly referring more to Ollie than to Mortiz.

Ollie clears his throat. “Moritz, this is Brian. He’s our waiter. He’s homeschooled.”

“I hate school,” Brian corrects.

“That’s right,” Ollie says. “He hates school. And me. Even though I’m his friend.”

“No you’re not,” Brian says. “You just get tutored by my girlfriend.”

Moritz can’t tell if Brian is joking or not. After all, Ollie doesn’t really seem to have a lot of friends, or even know how to properly make them. Then again, neither does Moritz, but Ollie seems different. Less content with being so alone. Moritz wonders what made Ollie like this. He seems the opposite of introverted, but for some reason the only people he talks to he just knows by another kind of association.

“What’d you guys want?” Brian asks. 

“Moritz, do you like milkshakes?” Ollie asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Two chocolate milkshakes,” Ollie orders. 

Brian walks away from them. What a weird day Moritz is having. This whole thing seems just a tad strange, but it’s Moritz who got into this situation in the first place, and there’s not really any harm in staying to talk.

“So, I take it you want to discuss what happened a couple days ago?” Moritz figures, taking off his goggles and placing them on the table. 

“Discuss? What are we, businessmen? I just want to know what the hell I was doing in your dream, and why you couldn’t ‘accept the explanation yourself’?” Ollie chirps, his breath getting closer to Moritz.

“Well, you really remember everything,” Moritz says with wide eyes, almost embarrassed by himself.

“Call it a perk,” Ollie says. “So? You got anything for me, Mo?”

Moritz laughs at his sudden nickname. “I do, but don’t call me Mo. Anyway, so lately I’ve been having these dreams. Nearly all of them are nightmares, and they are all themed the same. They always take place at some type of laboratory, and they always end with your face.”

“Sounds kinky,” Ollie says. 

“It’s horrifying,” Moritz replies, biting his lip. “I don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen since I  was five, and I surely haven’t seen your face, or a laboratory.”

“Maybe you’re not seeing me. Maybe it’s just someone you once saw who looks like me,” Ollie suggests.

“Impossible. I heard him too. Exactly like you. Current you.”

At that moment, Moritz hears footsteps and unsurprisingly Brian shows up with the milkshakes. He sets them down neatly on the table, and Ollie thanks him, rewarded with silence and possibly a scowl. Moritz takes a sip of his shake. Smooth, sweet, chocolatey, delicious. He starts to value his day more.

“Okay, that’s weird. So much for an explanation.”

“Well, you can always help me find out what’s happening,” Moritz offers.

Ollie sighs. “You really think that it’s something besides a weird, universe coincidence? Or that

there’s some information you forgot that solves this problem? Even if it’s not, is it something scientific, paranormal? Are we destined to be friends or something, is that it? More importantly, do you think we’ll ever get to figuring out what the hell it means or are we supposed to go on a wild goose chase?”  
This sudden doubt is odd to Moritz. Ollie doesn’t seem pessimistic, he seems adventurous, carefree. Even if his words tell a different story, his tone and his spirit always stay loyal to a different side of Ollie. One that was up for anything.

Maybe that’s why Moritz decides to stick around. To see if he found his partner in crime.

“We can always give it a try,” Moritz suggests, taking a sip of his milkshake. 

“Sure,” Ollie agrees.

 

xx

“Have either of you seen Moritz today?” 

Fieke and Owen looked up from the grass of the baseball field to stare at Molly, the random theatre girl with the big hair and the split lip that’s always covered in some lipstick. Immediately Fieke feels bad that Molly just marched through the grass in three inch heels, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t like theatre kids. Who does? Theatre kids. And Moritz, apparently, although he would be 100% a part of their clique if he took off those goddamn goggles. 

Fieke glances at her brother, who shrugs and continues to eat his sandwich and ignore the sudden visitor. 

“No, we haven’t. We assumed he was with you,” Fieke says truthfully.

Molly sighs, shaking her gold hoop earrings in a fit of nervousness. It’s kind of cute, actually.

“Okay, I believe you, but if you know where he is later, tell me, because Max is looking for him and I need to get them to talk about this,” Molly spills, brushing some of her curls out of her face.

Fieke doesn’t bother to look at Owen for his opinion, she knows how he feels. She can’t believe this Max thing is going on while Owen and Moritz are together, so if Moritz is too busy to end it, Fieke will. The girl is tired, after all.

“I’m not gonna let Max have anything to do with Moritz, Molly,” Fieke says, raising her left eyebrow.

“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m getting them to talk,” Molly says.

Fieke lurches back, both her eyebrows high on her forehead. She didn’t take Molly for the girl who actually cares about her friends well being, just the Queen Of The Gays™ who invests herself in her friends relationships besides her own failing one.

But then again Fieke knows nothing about Molly. Nothing at all.

“Oh,” is all Fieke can manage.

“Yeah. Now I know you guys hate me, or whatever, but if I go back to my friends, Max is going to want some information I don’t want to give the bitch, so can I just sit with you for this lunch period?”

Fieke mulls it over, and just when she’s about to say no, Owen offers a hand to Molly who grabs it, using his hand as help to sit down without crushing her feet. She begins to remove her shoes one by one, then crosses her legs like the others. 

“Thanks Owen,” Molly says, accepting the apple he offers her. “Moritz always says nice things about you.”

Owen signs, something Fieke has to translate for him. “He’s surprised you don’t like Max.”

Molly laughs a little bit, a chortle, like she’s laughing for two people rather than just herself. 

“We call him Assner behind his back sometimes,” she admits, and manages a giggle out of Owen.

Fieke pauses, looking at the girl sitting across from her. “You’ll never blend in with us in those clothes. Here. Take my jacket.”  
It’s Fieke’s favorite leather jacket, but she gives it to Molly for friendly sake, although she doubts Molly will see it as that. But Molly smiles, something even more joyous than her laugh, with little dimples forming at the edges of her mouth. The jacket ends up looking nice on her, especially with the sparkling purple top Molly’s wearing.

The three of them eat with little discussion coming up among them, but it’s a pleasant sort of quiet.

 

xx

  
Moritz and Ollie spend the rest of the school day together. Mostly because both of them are too scared to go back to school and risk getting caught ditching.

They go to the local beach and watch seagulls pick up pieces of food left behind by visitors. Barely anyone is around. Small towns. They all have a schedule behind them. You don’t break the schedule.

Ollie soon gets bored of the peaceful beach and they head to the skate park, where Ollie spends his time trying to get Moritz to skateboard. Moritz convinces Ollie that if he wasn’t with Moritz, Moritz would run into everything and die, but Ollie became persistent enough to get Moritz interested.

“Maybe you could have like one of those echolocation sensors that beep when you’re about to run into something!” he’d exclaim.

Most of Moritz’s interest in skateboarding is wanting Ollie to be happy. But there was something fun about cruising along a skateboard, even if he could potentially hurt himself while doing so.

They arrive at the school at 3:13, because Ollie got a text from Liz to meet her there. Moritz figures he could find Owen and Fieke, so he tags along. Ollie puts Moritz on his skateboard and drags him along the sidewalk, until he finds Liz standing with Fieke beside the school.

The two break apart to meet their friends separately.

 

“Brille!” Fieke says to Moritz, in a tone that’s either happy, surprised, or angry. Moritz can’t tell. “Did you seriously ditch us the entire day for a  _ boy _ ? Don’t tell me you cheated on Owen already?"

So angry then. So, so angry.

“Hold up, already?” Moritz says, with a little laugh at the end.

Fieke shrugs like she didn’t just insinuate that one of her best friends is that kind of person, and doesn’t do much after that. Probably because Owen comes running up to them, his existence becoming clear as he wraps his hand around Moritz’s waist, making Moritz giggle.

Anyways, Moritz doesn’t care all too much about his presence. He will not let Fieke’s shade go undetected.

“Excuse me, Fieke, but I’m not going to even think about cheating on Owen, and even if I was, Ollie wouldn’t even be interested, he’s in love with Lizzy Mcguire over there.”

Owen seemed straight up confused, until Moritz mentioned Liz, and Owen goes into panic mode, squeezing Moritz’s waist so they’re pressed up against each other, which is code for “God help us all”.

“Uh...well Liz doesn’t like him back,” Fieke replies, making her voice more defensive.

Moritz furrows his eyebrows. “Okay? I don’t really care how or who Liz is, and why are you acting so–oh. You like Liz, don’t you?” Fieke marches away from them without a word, which Moritz knows is a ‘definitely yes’.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading the first chapter. I hope you liked it, and also, don't ask me why it's called Winder High School. I don't know. I came up with it on the spot and I don't want to let it go. Anyway thanks for reading, and I'll see you guys next chapter!


End file.
